Author: Dimitry Partsi

Beckett and his desk arrived on the 17th floor at precisely 9:04 a.m. The desk was a formidable beast of faux-wood laminate, and its squeaky caster wheels announced their presence long before the elevator doors slid open with a polite ding. Beckett, a man with a perpetually surprised expression and a small, defiant tuft of hair atop his head, maneuvered the desk out into the hushed, beige corridor. He was, in his own mind, a legal force of nature. A legal beagle, as he sometimes called himself. His first target was SynerCorp Global Solutions. He rolled his desk directly up…

The office of Squirrel Recruitment had the faint, sweet smell of damp documents and quiet despair. A single, wilted fern drooped in a corner, a silent testament to forgotten ambitions. Behind a desk sat Kafkett, a man whose suit had the bewildered look of something that had been through a car wash. Across from him sat Normalson, a man so thoroughly beige he risked blending into the walls. Normalson clutched his CV like a holy text. Kafkett leaned forward, his eyes wide and unblinking. “Let’s begin,” he said, his voice a confidential boom. “I am a Business person and so…